What Went Unspoken
by TutorGirlml
Summary: A mostly Boromir fan fiction, imagining missing details and the life Boromir led as Captain of Gondor before he set off for the Council of Elrond and what could have happened along the way; also includes a romance with an original character
1. Prologue

_What Went Unspoken_

_(A mostly Boromir "Lord of the Rings" fan fiction)_

_By: M. L. Wells_

_Prologue: A Shadow and Thought_

Boromir stood to one side in the Great Hall, for once forgotten by his father and not in the center of Denethor's penetrating gaze. Faramir had indeed incurred their father's ire once more, and Boromir itched to break into the midst of their verbal brawl. Only years of military training and rigid willpower kept his body still and under control. Interfering in the fight now would only anger both parties; his father and his brother. He forced himself to wait, to see what might transpire if he let them continue. Faramir needed to feel that Boromir trusted him to be strong enough to fend for himself. In truth, Boromir trusted no one more. It was the Steward – their own father – that he began to doubt.

Denethor was shrewd and intelligent, but all too proud. He had once been as excellent a Steward as any in his line before him, but he was crumbling beneath the bleak terror to the East, sure to strike in their immediate future. And Boromir sensed that something else clouded Denethor's sense of late; he was even more unreasonable, harsh, distrusting, and malicious. Boromir did not know what had so changed this powerful man who had sired, but he had learned to be wary of his father, despite his love and fealty to him. And he was ever more watchful of the Steward's interactions with Faramir.

When Finduilas, their mother, had died, Boromir had still been but a child himself, yet he had already noticed how his mother clung to life to nurture her darling Faramir, as though she had to protect him. And while the painful loss of their mother had banded the souls of the two brothers as close as two people could be to one another, it had strangely distanced their father from his youngest. A savage fire burned in his eyes when they rested on Faramir, and Boromir could not understand it. Never had a son been more noble and good, more learned and true, and more desperate to earn a father's love than Faramir. And yet, he could not garner even a scrap of what Denethor lavished upon his eldest so freely.

Shaking these familiar, circling thoughts from his head, Boromir trained his ears back to the words echoing in the room. If he were honest with himself, this subject troubled him far more than he wished to admit. He had begun to see the same visions Faramir spoke of to their father, and he feared that they spoke of destruction. A trip to Imladris…dwarves, elves, and Halflings…and something else. Something that he could to see, but that was so tempting in its base evil and power that it tormented him even in sleep.

His father still refused to hear Faramir's words. "I will listen to no more of your insipid fears and wild fancies, nor consider your ramblings on wizards and elves. You talk of nothing and want only a way to desert your post in Ithilien!"

"Father," his brother's voice was quiet and controlled, yet the hurt Boromir knew Faramir hid within that calm made tears nearly spring to his own eyes. He knew that he would have lashed out in anger against such an accusation, and marveled again at his sibling's quiet grace…it was not something Faramir had learned from him. Again, he stamped down his own retort and forced himself to allow Faramir to fight his own battles without interference. "How can you doubt me so?" Faramir was saying. "When have I ever betrayed you to deserve such mistrust and hatred?"

"Only when you speak cowardice to shirk your duty!" Denethor roared, his anger fully roused.

At that, Boromir jerked forward, leaping headlong into the fray he could avoid no longer, and stepping to his brother's side. "It is not a foolish whim he speaks of, but real warning. No one will impugn my brother's honor…nor doubt his valor." His voice was low and taut, dangerously so, and the anger now flashing in his eyes fully matched his father's.

Yet Boromir hesitated a moment to speak the last words lingering on his tongue. The visions in his own dreams had shaken him, and resembled the ones Faramir had told him of numerous times before. Of Isildur's Bane and a Quest to challenge the Dark Lord. He was a part of this Quest, and so was Isildur's heir. He swallowed and there was a tremor running through him that he forced from his voice. "He has not created this dream from nothing! In the last two nights, I have seen the things he speaks of."


	2. Chapter One: Fairest in the City

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter One: Fairest in the City_

That evening, Boromir found he could not stay in the Citadel; even in his own apartments and their silent comfort, he could feel his father's vigilant scrutiny on him, disappointment in both of his sons permeating the very walls. Boromir found that he was haunted by the pain that constantly met his sibling here. This was not how a home should be, and he feared that his family was disintegrating around him despite all his efforts to hold it together.

Faramir had left the moment they had taken their evening meal, presumably to see that his fellow Rangers were seen to and settled in good accommodations for the length of the furlough in the White City. Boromir hated that when his brother _did _return for periods of time, when they should have been able to spend rare hours together, they could not enjoy the opportunity for Denethor's practically driving Faramir away again.

Eventually, Boromir gave up sitting alone and pondering melancholy thoughts. It did him no good and would change little. Standing, he scrubbed a hand over his weary face and left the room. Making his way across the greensward outside the Citadel, he found himself gazing up at the stars, idly wondering what it would be like to sit and enjoy them knowing that his city was safe and at peace. He stopped walking when he had finally winded his way down to the fifth circle, and was standing outside a familiar, yet nondescript, stone building.

Entering, he was greeted by boisterous noise, color, movement, and warmth; the direct opposite of the place he had just left behind. The inn was a common stomping ground for him, as it had been since his earliest campaign as a young soldier. Often, he had found that he couldn't bear the silence when he returned from battle. Images of fallen comrades, echoes of their pain, and the knowledge that they would never stem the tide of their enemies' onslaught came crashing down on him. Instead, he needed a place where he might sit with some of his fellows – still hale, hearty, and laughing, downing some of Gondor's finest ale served by pretty maids, raucously join in drinking songs, swap stories, and continue attempting to bury all that tormented him.

It was in this very establishment that he had met the person he now sought. A friend who often listened, calmed him, and lessened his fears. It had been one of those chance encounters; a moment of kismet bearing the sort of magic that Faramir so enjoyed in Elvish lore. Boromir's eyes warmed as he remembered their first meeting, a nostalgic smile softening his stern warrior's face.

And it was in this moment of remembrance that she walked up to him now.

A teasing smile and wicked gleam in her eyes lit the face of the woman who now stood before him. Light brown hair curled wildly about her face, glinting at times red or gold in the flickering firelight and lamps. She was tall and sturdy-built for a woman, Boromir knew, but he had never had much use for such slender saplings of women that he feared he might break them in their fragility. Her soft, full curves favored her and her lips pouted beautifully in a perfect Cupid's bow. "Ah, I see our city's great Captain-General has deigned to grace us with his illustrious presence once again."

He chuckled, knowing she meant no harm in her sarcastic flattery. To listen to his father, and the many Citadel servants and attendants, talk every overweening word was true. But he had no need for such obsequiousness at any time, and especially not here, in the one place he could lay that mantle down and be merely a man…himself.

"So, Mistress Galena, I gather you are most happy to see me," he parried back. He kept his tone light, praying that his eyes would hide their begging her not to refuse him. He needed her tonight, and would accept no other.

To his surprise, she lowered her eyes, a flush rising up her neck to cover her cheeks in rosy apple red. "You know, in truth, that I am," she whispered discreetly.

Boromir merely nodded, acknowledging her answer, and offered her his arm, where her hand came to rest lightly. _As though it belongs there,_ he thought suddenly. Together, they then disappeared to the apartments at the back of the building, where they could be afforded some privacy.

* * *

It was much later in the night, as he lay with Galena in his arms – her stroking her fingers over his broad chest, lightly scratching and teasing his bare skin, curling her body easily into the shelter of his – when Boromir found that the racing of his heart had ceased. He could draw breath again and think clearly of what he must say and do.

"What troubles you, my Lord?" Galena asked at last, lightly touching his brow. "Worry rest heavy on you tonight. You have forestalled me long enough, I think. And though I have enjoyed the forestalling…" she smirked here mischievously, "I would be of help to you, if I can."

Boromir pulled her closer, laying a kiss on her forehead and running a hand through her long cascades of hair, loosed now by his own doing. "Galena, please, must I beg it of you again? Do not call me 'Lord.' I feel it somehow wrong in light of what we have. I do not expect it of you, nor is it necessary to be so formal when we are here alone."

"As you wish," she replied, a pleasured smile gracing her features.

Boromir was quiet again for quite some time, not sure how to explain what disturbed him, or even sure if he should. Finally, he offered simply, "I have been troubled by strange dreams of late. Dreams that I fear speak doom, and my destiny." He sighed heavily, not wishing to say more…he understood little more than that.

"My love," she whispered, now voicing her true feelings, concerned for him. "You are the noblest of men, both strong and brave. I have no doubt that, for you, the Defender of our City, destiny has something great rather than horrible in store." Here, she paused, cupping his face in her hands and staring into his eyes pleadingly. "I _must _believe it so."

He said nothing after that, only clung to her embrace, not knowing that she shed fearful tears at his words of dreams and strange fortune. Nor that she clung to him as a bastion of strength; as all she had to treasure in the world.


	3. Chapter Two: Doom and Destiny at Hand

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Two: Doom and Destiny at Hand_

Faramir leaned over the maps covering every inch of the heavy oak desk, his hands planted on the surface almost supporting his tired weight. He had not slept this night, and had not expected to. At the sound of his door opening unannounced, he whirled around, anger already evident in his eyes and in his bearing. He assumed his father had come to spy on him, or to further castigate him for his shortcomings. When he saw instead his brother unceremoniously inviting himself into the room and flopping tiredly into a chair, he relaxed slightly. Certainly, his frustration was not with Boromir.

He now turned his back to the maps and battle stratagems he had been poring over and crossed his arms, leaning back to half-sit on the table's surface and study Boromir for a moment. "You look awful, Brother," he noted solemnly, struggling mightily not to allow a small grin to quirk the corners of his mouth upward.

Boromir snorted in surprised agreement, running a hand through the tangles in his russet hair. "Thank you, Faramir. You are too kind."

Faramir merely inclined his head to his brother, allowing a sympathetic, knowing look into his eyes. "You have been to visit the lady," he said quietly.

"Aye," Boromir affirmed, fondness evident in his eyes at the mere mention of her. Faramir was the only person who knew there was a woman who had claimed Boromir's affection, but even he did not know Galena's identity. It was Boromir's own precious knowledge – and his alone. Abruptly, he decided to change the subject, to something else equally filling his heart and mind. "Why must you always challenge and prod our Lord Steward so? You know that our father seeks always to find fault with you, must you push him to further anger?"

"You know as well as I, Boromir, that the Lord Denethor's orders have turned from all reason. Something clouds his judgment and torments his mind and soul. I feel it…and I see it in his face. He is drained of all hope, and would hand us over to the Enemy without a fight, believing the outcome is already decided."

"You do not know this, Faramir," Boromir's voice suddenly dropped low and solemn, carefully keeping his words calm, wishing he could believe them himself. "It is one of your intuitions, your visions…" but he trailed off, knowing the words only served to deny the obvious. He again raked the disheveled hair back out of his face, cursing himself for a fool. He could not see either the utter doom that haunted and crippled their father, nor the signs to challenge him that his brother read.

Sighing, Boromir dropped the pretense of defending their father and reminding his younger sibling of correct behavior. He noticed belatedly that Faramir was still trembling with barely harnessed adrenaline and anger, and knew he must have slept little, if at all. Faramir was his own man, full grown now and of such stern and honorable mettle that Boromir knew he could teach him little. Why their father would not see his other son's intelligence and valor as he did that of his eldest, Boromir could not comprehend.

Faramir said little else either for some time, lost in his own thoughts. Soon he and the rest of his Rangers would be returning to their nomadic life in Ithilien, chancing a day and night's peace in the hidden sanctuary of Henneth Annun from time to time when they could manage it undetected. It was a hard, thankless life in many respects, but often – for Faramir, at least – it was a relief to return to it. When encounters like the one he'd had the day before awaited him each time he came home, home proved to be of little comfort to him. He would die to protect Minas Tirith, as would any true son of Gondor, but to know that his own father did not believe this about him became more painful to him with each passing day, and made him wish to retreat to the dying forests on Mordor's borders that he fought to keep.

_'Perhaps,' _Faramir reflected, _'he tries me only to be sure that I am strong enough, to know that I am ready and able to face any challenge that might meet me in defending my City and our family's name.' _ But he always had to admit that he did not believe this excuse. In the end, he could only assume that Denethor punished him for being alive while his beloved wife Finduilas was dead. That was not something Faramir could help; the two things were utterly unrelated. Yet, somehow, he sensed that in Denethor's mind the two were linked. Maybe it was that he was like Finduilas in so many ways that he himself could not even see – having never truly gotten to know her. And he was sharply the opposite of Denethor, as much as Boromir was similar. Could the mere sight of him or the sound of his voice truly cause his father that much pain?

"I fear for us also, Faramir," Boromir finally admitted, breaking the long silence of both their thoughts. "And I fear what might be the meaning of the dream."

Faramir sighed, but did not respond at first. Rare indeed was the time when his younger brother did not speak his mind and heart to him, Boromir realized. _'Or fail to meet my eyes,' _ his thoughts added. "Faramir?" Boromir prodded, feeling panic rise in his throat without understanding why.

"I do not fear for myself, Brother," Faramir finally said roughly, forcing the words from his constricted throat. "But for Gondor…and for you. I feel this Quest, and this thing of evil, will in time pertain most directly to you."


	4. Chapter Three: May Not Return Again

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Three: May Not Return Again_

Another day's passing found the brothers again in their father's presence. And, reeling from the decision he had finally come to in the depths of a sleepless night, Boromir steeled himself to tell his father – and his brother – what he intended to do. Neither would agree to what he had to say without a fight. Denethor, because he refused to see that the situation did, in fact, exist. Faramir, because he was so impassioned with this cause that he would not want to give it up to someone else. Faramir felt it was his duty to seek the riddling dream's import in Imladris. He would be deeply hurt at what he might well see as Boromir's attempt to usurp his place.

But, in the hours while sleep had fled him this night, Boromir had found many revelations. And, in his heart, a sure, stubborn determination had grown. He would _not _ let Faramir go. He could not. It was folly for either of them. Boromir felt that neither of them could be spared from battles here at home, nor should they be, for such a threatening phantom of a mission, but if the subject was not abandoned, he would take the trip upon himself. He feared that what they found at the end of this vision's path would be nothing short of destruction. And he would certainly die himself before he would watch his younger brother ride off to meet death. He loved Faramir too much – and felt too much responsibility for him – to willingly see him endanger himself needlessly.

Denethor sat in the lower seat in the Great Hall, just below the throne that had waited for a King for ages, looking bent with fear and worry. He had summoned them here for a reason Boromir could not begin to guess, but his every sense was alert and at the ready.

Boromir shot a quick, questioning glance at Faramir standing across the room form him, trying to read his brother's features for any clue he might have as to their father's intentions. However, Faramir's face was purposefully blank and unreadable, as he often seemed to make it when called before their father. It mattered not…his father did not keep them wondering long.

Denethor spoke, his voice hard and cold, so much so that Boromir doubted his own memories of its once holding warmth and comfort; he knew that Faramir had no such memories to confuse him. "I have decided that this riddle in Imladris does bear our consideration," Denethor announced. "One of you must go to this so-called Council of Elrond. We must know what is being said by those on all sides. I feel there may be something of great value to Gondor being discussed…indeed, a might gift. If we can weld it, it may save us in the days to come."

Faramir's eyes narrowed suspiciously, trying to gauge his father's sudden reversal of opinion for its true motives. "What has so altered your feelings on this, when a mere few days ago you were fully set against such a venture?" he questioned. Rumors drifted of strange lights in the highest tower of the Citadel late at night; a place where only Denethor had authority to be. Many suspected sorcery, or some other madness, and though Faramir had formed no certain opinion, these stories flooded back into his mind now, with his father's strangely altered will. Just what had he seen or done? And how did he seem to uncannily divine much that he had no way of knowing?

Boromir quickly spoke up before any more could be decided. "I will go, my Lord," he stated simply, trying to make his voice sound as certain and final as possible. "If you deem it necessary, I will leave on the morrow." In truth, his father's words had puzzled and unsettled him as well, and he feared Faramir's response, but he plowed on, hiding these misgivings.

Faramir jerked around to look at him swiftly, obviously surprised and disbelieving.

"I would prefer to send Faramir," Denethor responded with offhand casualty. "You are Gondor's Captain-General and cannot be spared. We do not know what dangers await on the way to Imladris."

"All the more reason you should keep those that you will someday need most close to you…whether you acknowledge it so or not," Boromir stated firmly, inclining his head towards Faramir.

Faramir spoke quietly, his eyes still curiously regarding his brother, looking both concerned and possibly betrayed. "I fully intended to make this journey myself. I would not have brought up the prospect of such a venture to foist it upon another."

"Father," Boromir found himself nearly commanding. "I will not suffer anyone to have this task but me!"

Denethor's eyes flicked from one son to the other, surveying them and carefully weighing his options. Then, they seemed to dismiss Faramir as they always did and settle proudly on his eldest. "Perhaps you should go, Boromir. _You _have never failed me before, and you would not fail now to bring me a mighty gift if one is indeed placed before you as I have seen."

Boromir nodded, giving a slight bow. He carefully avoided his brother's eyes, at least until they had left Denethor's presence. He resisted the immediate urge to beg Faramir to understand and to forgive him. In time, he prayed that his brother would see why he had done as he had. And even if Faramir did not, still he knew that there could be no other choice for him. He could not bear the thought of this doom being fulfilled in any other way.

* * *

"What was your meaning just now?!" Faramir demanded as soon as they had left the hall and were out of Denethor's earshot. "Do you now doubt me as well, Boromir?" His voice trembled with hurt and bitterness on that last word, and Boromir knew his brother had reacted as he had feared he would. Faramir believed that the last member of his immediate family he could trust had deceived him. "Answer me, Boromir! Did you plan to take this quest from me since first I spoke of it to you?"

Boromir stepped towards his younger brother, hands held out before him placatingly. "Nay, Faramir, do not judge me so harshly. I meant you no disservice."

"Meant me no disservice?" Faramir repeated, unbelieving. "How can you say so? You have taken from me a most important task. One that was given to me in _my _dream, Boromir. It meant much to me, and it was _my _chance to prove my quality to our father."

Boromir bowed his head, and let his brother have his say. He did not wish to argue.

Faramir's words and anger seemed to run out however, as quickly as they had been unleashed. At last, in a voice dropped to a whisper, he almost pleaded to comprehend, "Why, Brother? Why would you do this?"

"I slept not a moment last night," Boromir spoke honestly, finding his brother's eyes at last and holding his gaze. "I cannot fully explain my reasoning to you; only that I must be the one to seek for Imladris. I could not bear to lose you, Faramir – not when I could have prevented it. And, whether our father realizes it or not, the White City needs _you _most, if only one of us can be had. There is a time coming when wisdom and discernment – your extraordinary mind and heart – will be more vital to Gondor than strength of arms."

Faramir spoke not at all for a moment, then quietly replied, "You have those traits as well, Boromir. Do not discredit your own valor and heart."

"All the same," Boromir argued, "I know that you _must not _go, and so I have forced myself into your place. I do not do this to hurt you, Faramir, or because I doubt you. I hope I will not leave the White City with a rift between us. I hope that you will understand."

"I am no longer a child for you to shield and protect," Faramir's voice was still hard to read. "We are both grown men, and soldiers, yet I am still waiting to prove myself." But he was at least now meeting Boromir's eyes, and the look in them was certainly not one of hate or anger.

"I know that," Boromir quietly replied, at a loss for any more words. He tentatively reached out to place a large hand on his brother's shoulder. "Please do not think me selfish," he finally added. "I do not demand this journey out of my own desire to go or to take the glory from you once more…I simply feel that I must."

"I understand your reason," Faramir sighed, reaching up to clasp his brother's forearm in his own strong grip. "I am just not sure that I agree with you." Their eyes locked for a moment, then Faramir sighed, looked down, and stepped away. "I fear I will change neither you nor Father's mind now, and so I must try to support you in this endeavor."

"Thank you, Faramir," Boromir said, failing miserably for any better expression of his gratitude. He found himself nearly sagging in relief. What would he have done if his brother had not forgiven him? It would have been the hardest thing he had ever done to ride from the White City on the morrow knowing that he and Faramir were parting with bitterness between them..

"I will leave you for now to your preparations," Faramir said simply, and he turned to walk away.

Boromir could do nothing but watch his brother's figure retreat down the hall, feeling such a tangle of love, pride, fear, and remorse that he could scarcely even begin to untangle it in his head. "I do this for you, Faramir," he whispered to his retreating back sadly. "Though I fear I may not return to you again."


	5. Chapter Four: Laying Claim

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Four: Laying Claim_

"I wish you would reconsider, Boromir," Galena whispered, shying away form his embrace and turning to cross the room and stare out the window of her private chamber. Long shadows stretched across the very last of the evening's light, darkening it. She felt her heart darkening in much the same way, inevitably, at the thought that he left seeking danger to save his young brother. She could not bear for him to see her face; she could not coolly hide the despair she suddenly felt.

"Galena, love," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion, yet also somewhat clumsy, unused to employing tones so soft and gentle, "sure you must see that I have to go. I cannot lose Faramir, if this quest did indeed go ill. Do not take this news so harshly – surely nothing will come of it in any case."

Galena noticed that he tried very hard to sound casual, as though this news was of no moment. But his voice seemed to falter in the end. He did not believe his words anymore than she did. And it frightened her more that he was already trying to comfort her. Her emotions were to the very point that she truly feared she would fail to stop their bubbling over.

She felt his presence and knew that he had come to stand behind her, even before his rall, hard-muscled body pressed against her back from head to toe. He wrapped his sinewy arms around her from behind and mumbled into her neck. "My love? Talk to me. Why are you so troubled by this trip of mine? I have made many dangerous campaigns before." He kissed along her neck, nibbling at her earlobe for a moment, knowing that he could drive her wild with his lips and tongue alone, and trying to distract her where he knew her resistance was weakest.

For a moment, she allowed it, a sigh escaping her as she let her head loll back onto his shoulder, giving him free access to attack her throbbing, quivering body, his tickling her skin roughly and setting her nerve endings alight. But suddenly, tears were escaping from her eyes; frustrated tears of anger and terror. She turned away from his gifted, lust-inspiring mouth, and faced him – her look almost shooting sparks. "I am troubled by this campaign for the same reason you are…for the same reason that you feel you cannot let Faramir go. Do you honestly think I can bear to lose you, Boromir? That I can send you off on some misguided, dangerous quest without worrying or even voicing my fears for you?"

Boromir studied her silently after her emotional outburst; looking both shocked and touched. He also seemed unsure how to respond to her. They were silent – facing off – Galena's chest heaving and tears still coursing furiously down her cheeks, Boromir looking half-frightened of her and half-desperate to be of comfort; to both Galena and himself. "I did not know what to expect of you, Galena. I have never bidden or claimed control of your emotions."

"You may not have thought that you did, but it has happened nonetheless."

"What are you saying?" he demanded urgently, not at all sure if he should hope she meant what he thought she did. They had never made each other any promises on the nature of their relationship. In these dangerous times, with the risks Boromir had to take, and the life that Galena led, there had been no way they could give each other assurances. But it seemed now that Galena had more in her heart than he had realized, and if he were honest with himself, Boromir knew that he had allowed himself to do much the same thing. They needed each other, in a way that they had never planned.

Seeing how affected, and possibly surprised, Boromir had been by her declaration, Galena stepped forward to stand before him, reaching out her hand to cup the side of his face. She rubbed her thumb in a loving caress over his prominent jawline, tracing it as she often had.

"Galena," Boromir whispered, swallowing hard, "you know that I care for you very deeply, but I cannot send Faramir into danger while I wait in safety. Too much of me still sees myself as his childhood protector, I suppose."

She smiled slightly in understanding, though her eyes were still sad. "You will always be the elder brother," she supplied, "and you will always fashion yourself as his guardian in some way." Gently, she brushed a shock of his hair back behind his ear, then leaned against his broad chest.

"You are right," Boromir chuckled, holding her close to him and burying his face in her soft, sweet-smelling hair. "Though he would be much affronted if he heard me say so. You know me much too well."

"Aye, that I do, you filthy lout!" she joked back, trying to make herself escape into this easier bantering conversation as he seemed to have done. "Though why I trouble myself with you, I do not know!"

Boromir's mouth crashed down upon hers at this, uttering a lusty sort of growl. He steered them towards her bed, where they both toppled down, laughing. "Let me remind you then, what your trouble is for," his voice rumbled silkily, his hands sliding inside her corseted bodice and over tingling, sensitive skin.

"Please do," she murmured into his neck before she totally lost herself to him.


	6. Chapter Five: To Seek for Imladris

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Five: To Seek for Imladris_

As much as Galena wished to forestall the morning, dawn still came as it always does. Boromir rolled over in her arms; a feeling she never tired of experiencing. His lovely eyes opened: languid, bedroom eyes they were at this moment as they slowly focused and took her in, though usually crackled like the eyes of the wild lion of Gondor that he was. "Galena," his voice rumbled, pulling her over onto his chest and nuzzling her face with his stubbled cheek.

She could not help giggling delightedly, feeling a girlish mischief at being cuddled into her bed with this bear of a man holding her and laughing along with her mirth. She kissed his forehead and studied him carefully, tracing her fingertips over the planes of his face. She realized that she wanted to memorize his every feature – fearing she might not see them again after this morn.

"Good morning," she smiled, hoping he would store this moment away in his memory as lovingly as she was doing even now. It was a glorious feeling to begin the day with him there beside her. Could there be a hope, merely the tiniest chance that he might want that to become all his mornings from now on? She had known for some time that it was all that she desired. If they lived somewhere else, in some other time; if he were not the Steward's son and she were not a common serving wench, and if they were not all locked all locked in the last dying days of their age…could they have a different fate and they life they dreamed of before them?

"Boromir –" she began, but he brought a finger to her lips, shushing her before she could speak her thought out loud. He leaned down and kissed her thoroughly, then sat back to study her with his eyes piercing every corner of her psyche.

Galena opened her mouth to begin again, but he shook his head, the look he gave her growing sad. "I know, love," he spoke, so softly that almost could not hear him, "I know…"

"How can you know," she returned, "when you will not even let me speak?"

"Because I am thinking it as well," he responded, lightly brushing her hair up off of her forehead and stroking her face. "And I do not think that I will be able to ever tear myself away from you and leave today if either of us speaks the words that we are considering right now. Please, do not say it, Galena. It is hard enough for me not to stay here with you. And I _must _go."

She swallowed hard, blinking back a few bitter tears that fought her eyes for the right to fall and choke her. "May I say one other thing?" she whispered, trying to gather a full breath. "Before you go?"

"Anything else," he replied, kissing her forehead and then her collarbone.

"I will always be here when you return, Boromir," she promised solemnly, grasping his hand tightly in her own and kissing it. "Please remember that I am waiting; loving you. When you are done with being the hero, bring yourself back to me safely…and stay."

"I will do the best that I can to oblige you, my lady," he vowed, teasing her somewhat with the formality of his words, but realizing that he would love nothing more than to do as she wished. Catching her up and clasping her to him with incredible strength and fervor once more, he tried to hold her close enough to last him all the time that they would be apart.

* * *

A short time later, bathed and dressed, Boromir made his way back to the Citadel to take his leave of the White City. _'To seek for Imladris,' _he chided himself. It did sound ridiculous and foolhardy; he could admit that to himself. But he also knew that it must be him and not Faramir – there was no other way.

It did not take long to say goodbye to his father. The older man had no use for sentiment, even to spare it for his favored son's departure. He merely wished Boromir a swift, safe journey, and bade him not to fail and to return swiftly to Gondor's aid.

Boromir bowed, suddenly feeling as though he should say something better upon parting from his father. "Know, my lord, that I have tried at all times to serve you well. I have always been proud to be your son." He swallowed, suddenly fighting a lump that choked his throat. "I pray that you will see that _both _of your sons love you and serve you well."

Denethor turned sharply to gaze into Boromir's face with a piercing stare. But his eldest son was already bowing again and turning to leave the chamber.

"Farewell, Father," Boromir spoke solemnly.

"Farewell, my son," Denethor responded, a loving light flickering into his eyes for a second, then his son was gone and the light was swallowed up once more.


	7. Chapter Six: At Mission's Outset

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Six: At Mission's Outset_

Blinking, as his eyes adjusted to the hushed, dusky grey stables after the bright afternoon sunlight just outside, Boromir prepared to get his horse and take his final leave of his City. Stepping forward on the straw-littered floor, the sound of his heavy boots muffled, he found himself hesitant to disturb the gentle peace within these walls.

He slipped into his own horse's stall, running a hand down the white blaze on the animal's face and rubbing its nose. The horse was a grey palfrey, noble and true, and had been his mount since he was but a lad of fifteen, and much too powerful an animal for most youths of that age. She was indeed a magnificent beast, and – veteran soldier that he was – Boromir was deeply attached to her; she was a friend to him in the way that only man and beast long working together can be. They were so used to each other and attuned to each other that man and horse's bodies melded into one being when they rode out; responding to each other's smallest signal or hint.

"Shhh," he soothed, his deep voice low as he ran his hands over the animal's withers, calming her and checking to make sure she was sound in all respects. It could be a long journey and he did not wish to force her to set out upon it if she was not completely fit. She nickered at him, almost happily it seemed, and nudged his shoulder with her nose, nibbling instinctively at the heavily brocaded sleeve of his tunic.

"Nay, none of that," Boromir laughed, brushing the animal's muzzle away from his clothing. "You will have me looking a pauper instead of the Steward's son, should we meet anyone on the way."

Another laugh blended with his own, sounding uncannily like his; deep, rumbling, easy, and genuine. He looked up in surprise. He had not heard Faramir approach. "Perhaps she thinks you overdressed for a long journey," his brother teased.

Boromir nodded to his brother in acknowledgement and chuckled easily. He smiled at his sibling, glad that Faramir had come to see him off. But Faramir could see that the smile did not reach his eyes, and Boromir realized that his perceptive younger brother would not miss the sadness on his face, and his unease. "I am glad to see you, Faramir," Boromir said, and he was, deeply glad. He had hoped that things would be right again between them before he left this morn. It would appear that Faramir had felt the same way, and was making the effort for it to be so.

"Are you sure that you must be the one to make this journey to Imladris? I would still do it, Boromir. I did not intend to make a job for someone else. And I cannot deny that I have long desired to look on the hidden land of Elrond Half-Elven."

"I know that, Brother," Boromir said heavily, drawing a long breath. "I do not do this to usurp you. But I simply have a feeling that I must go and you must remain. Perhaps, if you remain, our father will finally have the opportunity to see your true quality." He clasped his brother's shoulder firmly, and Faramir returned the gesture, clasping at the upper arm – in a way, a sort of handshake, while also a part farewell. It was one of those moments when too many emotions ran under the surface for either man to know how to express their feelings comfortably. Neither Boromir nor Faramir knew when or if they would see each other again, or what would happen in the meantime while they were separated. The two brothers had stood together all their lives, against all comers. And it was still how they preferred to face their foes, shoulder-to-shoulder, having each other to look to no matter how horrible the fray.

But this separation was made even more troubling because each brother was preparing to occupy the past that the other had desired. Both knew it, and yet Boromir at least, felt there was no help for it.

After too many minutes of awkward silence and stiff wondering what the other truly did think and feel, Faramir abruptly strode forward and embraced his elder brother tightly – reminding Boromir forcibly of their years growing up together, when just after their mother's death Faramir had needed his comfort so often he had tired of it. But now, he founded the needed the momentary bracing send-off as much as his younger sibling needed to give it. Somewhere throughout the years of maturing into a man, becoming a soldier, and suffering Denethor's constant derision, Faramir had learned to deny – or hold back – his emotions, his fears, and Boromir realized he had forgotten to look, thinking Faramir simply no longer needed his shoulder to lean on at times.

He wrapped his arms around Faramir lightly in return, suddenly aware of just how important the contact was.

"Come back to us…please, Boromir," Faramir spoke fervently, as if the words simply had to come forth or he would explode. "Not just to me, though I admit my hope to have you back at my side is mostly selfish, but also to your father, your people, your City. The White City needs its Captain, Brother. You must return to protect, and to serve, and to lead, what is yours."

Boromir felt a shameful, betraying tightness in his throat and the burning of unshed tears behind his eyes, while Faramir suddenly seemed to have himself in check and at peace. "Thank you, Faramir," Boromir responded as they released each other and moved apart. "I _will _return, unless I cannot. This city, my people, Father, and most especially, you, mean more to me than you can possibly know. I love you, little brother. …Perhaps I have not said that often enough, but remember those words and this day as I say them. For they are true."

Faramir simply nodded; his eyes saying the same in the silence.

Boromir turned to mount the palfrey, which danced anxiously, ready to be off.

Faramir quirked a small, lopsided smile up at him as Boromir settled himself in the saddle. "You will go to see the lady before you leave the City?" he asked devilishly.

Boromir smirked as well, enjoying the moment of shared levity they'd moved on to. This was much more normal and comfortable footing for both of them. "Aye, that I will. Not that it's any business of yours!" he joked. "Why do you not find a lady of your own, then mine would not seem nearly so intriguing."

"Because you have obviously taken the best one for yourself!" Faramir shot back. "I can see it in your eyes!"

Boromir threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly at this. Thinking of Galena, he realized that he found this quite true. "I suppose I have," he said, shrugging in feigned indifference. "You shall just have to choose from those that are left."

"Perhaps I will steal her away from you, since you have callously decided to leave us both behind," Faramir said, his voice not unkind, but somehow seeming less cheerfully jesting now, inspite of himself.

"I might have to fight you on that score for the first time in our lives," Boromir said, completely earnest now as he looked at his brother. "I love her, I think. And I mean to tell her ere I go."

With that, he turned the horse and rode from the stables, turning only once to give Faramir a final wave; his younger brother still stood, as Boromir had known he would be, watching him go.


	8. Chapter Seven: No Turning Back

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Seven: No Turning Back_

Boromir did make one more stop that morning before leaving his City, though he knew that if his parting with Faramir had not broken even his strong heart, this parting surely would. Yet, he could not leave Galena without looking upon her beauty one last time, and telling her once more that he loved her. The first admission had been an unexpected release and he wanted to admit it in her presence at least once more. Perchance, and here he allowed himself one true moment of honesty, if he were not to return, he wanted to make their parting some warm memory to hold onto; he wanted Galena to know that he had indeed loved her.

Walking into the tavern was a completely different experience by early dawn's pale light. The fire was burned down to mere embers; the tables deserted, no bawdy, raucous sounds. But Boromir knew his way well enough now to not need any guidance or welcome.

Crossing the room, he mounted the wide stairs in back that led up to private bedchambers. He had barely risen two steps before Galena appeared at the top, looking down on him knowingly, meeting his gaze with a helplessly mournful look in her own eyes. "You are going now," she said simply, already knowing the answer, but praying that she might somehow be wrong.

Boromir continued until he met her at the last step, unable to do more than somberly nod his ascension to her query. "I have to."

She assured him that she knew he did, but she was rapidly trying to blink tears back from her eyes and he could see it clearly. Taking her hand, he brought the palm up to kiss its center gently, holding her soft, delicate skin against his strong, stubbled cheek. Attempting a jest he whispered hoarsely, "After all, the sooner I leave, the sooner I can return."

Galena sniffled still, but bravely nodded and put on a smile for him. "Can I get you anything before you leave?" she whispered. "Have you eaten?"

"Aye, I am ready, save for what I came to make sure I've said to you."

Her grip on him tightened, but she waited, still gazing deeply, longingly into his eyes. "And what might that be, pray tell?" she questioned sweetly, hoping she managed a playful air that would see him off in hope instead of sadness.

"Galena," he began, his usually assured voice sounding almost hesitant now. "I am no poet. No lover of words like Faramir. I am a soldier…and a man of action who has never felt this way before nor needed words to express feelings like this. But you must know that I love you. I've wasted much time denying it, trying to pretend the thing we have between us was merely a dalliance, with nothing binding either of us to each other. But knowing now that you feel more, as I do, I cannot deny it any longer. I do not wish to leave unsaid words that I deem would offer you comfort, if anything should go ill. When I return, I want to make a life with you…if you will have me."

Galena's sharp intake of breath and the way her eyes lit up with delight and awe, told him he had managed to surprise her. Her reaction was so strong and genuine that he could not doubt her feelings were just the same as his, and that she would indeed wait to begin a life with him upon his return to Gondor.

She reached forward, bodily pulling him to herself by the shoulders and tightly embracing him. Then she had pulled away to plant kisses all over his cheeks, his neck, crying tears both joyous and sad, and thanking him repeatedly. "I am glad to know that I do not love alone, Boromir. I _do _love you too, very dearly."

And with that, Boromir found that much too soon for his liking, there were no other words left to say. Nothing was left to the solider of Gondor, but to clutch Galena to his chest and hold onto her now while he could, which he did, like a drowning man would to the last line that could pull him back to his ship and to safety.

Galena clung to him with every bit as much desire and desperation. She did not know how she was going to let him go, and yet she would have to – very soon.

With a supreme effort, Boromir drew away from her slowly, sharing a last long look.

"I shall write you a litter whenever you enter my mind, my Lord," Galena whispered a vow, this time uttering the title not as a subject genuflecting before their ruler, but as a lover letting her beloved know that he was lord in her heart and soul. "Then, when you return, you shall have the lot of them and read my thoughts and cares for you as you would a book."

"When I can, I shall do the same for you, my lady," he responded lovingly, a callused hand caressing her cheek one final, lingering moment, nearly singeing her with the pain and delight of his touch. At last, he turned and she let him go. Neither of them had a choice against fate and destiny any longer, and to continue to delay only made the trial more sore.

Boromir forced himself not to turn and look back until he was well out of reach, and still it was nearly his undoing when he saw Galena quietly blow him a kiss and stand quietly watching – suffering silently, but wishing that there were yet some way he would not leave her sight.


	9. Chapter Eight: Into the Wild

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Eight: Into the Wild_

Night fell early in the open wilds where Boromir stopped to camp for the evening almost a week later. It seemed to him that the darkness hurried to come forth and swallow the day. He could not help wondering if this had always been so, or if it was yet another reminder of the Shadow and threat that constantly hovered now in the East.

Sudden thoughts struck him, of his mother Finduilas. Was it foreboding such as this that had caused her to waste away in dread and fear, losing all hope? Now, all at once, farther out in his father's lands than he usually had occasion to be and as alone as he had ever been, Boromir felt a small taste of, and a glimpse at, how she might have been overcome.

Sighing, he settled at his meager fire, but couldn't bring himself not to think. Perhaps it was time to put quill to parchment and begin a missive to Galena as she had promised to do for him. He had quite probably already put more words to paper in this week of his life than he had in the rest of it all together, but he realized that Galena should know the things he wished to tell her when he was not with her to do so himself. She made more words and emotions exist for him than he had ever thought possible.

Boromir had been born a Captain – and it was all he had ever been, or wanted to be. A man of bold, decisive action. And he had not truly valued the power of expressing emotion and deep contemplation as Faramir had. Only now was he seeing the strength and depth of these virtues as well. Shaking his head, as if to rid it of such nonsensical reflection, he managed to get himself back on track and forsake his musing to actually begin a letter. The stars overhead were the only witnesses of the outpouring of a heart long silent, hidden most of his life. Indeed, it was a relief Boromir could not have expected or imagined to finally have a way to express some things, and let them go…

_My Love,_

_ Oh, but that sounds ridiculous!_

_ And yet it is the only fair opening to attempt to say what I feel._

_ I wish you were near tonight; that we were simply lying out under this _

_ majestic array of stars together, as a lark, instead of being so far from each_

_ other and me on a reckless mission._

_ I can see that now, Galena, and I wish that no one had gone to _

_ seek Imladris. I begin to doubt that it exists to be found at all. Wandering _

_ through these lands, I am troubled that I have left both you and my people_

_ to seek for an imaginary kingdom.. Have I deserted the post where I am most_

_ needed to chase a shadow from a dream? Faramir wanted this Quest, and _

_ mayhap I should have let him make the journey, but I felt that I could not._

_ May you be safe, my Jewel, the Star that will guide me home. I hope_

_ you know that I will do the best that I canto return to you. But foolhardy or_

_ not, I must now do the best that I can to complete my mission. Bear me in_

_ your heart and know that I love you dearly. Someday perhaps we will have_

_ a bit of land and some peace for ourselves. If there is ever a way that we can_

_ defeat the Shadow in the East, then I will never leave your side again. _

_ --Boromir_

As he finished the letter, Boromir looked back over his words, realizing that his handwriting was no better than it had been when he was but a 10-year-old boy and that his spelling was horrendous; Faramir would surely laugh at it good-naturedly could he but see it. However, he had no fears that Galena would not understand; she always seemed able to read his soul and take him for what he had meant. No, instead he hesitated for fear he said either too much or too little. He wanted his words to be a comfort to her – to let her know that he was alright and that he thought of her with every mile he traveled. Yet, at the same time, it frightened him to lay his soul so bare; he had been trained and raised against showing such emotion all his life. He fould it a hard habit to break – though the resulting freedom brought infinite relief.

Sighing, he rolled the parchment his letter was writ upon up and tied it with a bit of red ribbon. Foolish, love-addled man that he was, he'd brought several short lengths of the ribbon, thinking that the bit of color binding each missive would both be pleasing to her sight and delight her that he would have thought of such a small detail when he could finally return and hand them all to her. Stowing the letter in his pack with the other letters he'd written, he could not help a chuckle at his own expense. If any of his men and fellow soldiers could see this, he would deserve every bit of the laughter and jibing it would bring.

Rolling onto his side, settling as near his small fire as he dared for warmth and trying to find comfort on hard, rocky ground, Boromir sought to find sleep. He wondered as he had the previous two nights how long he should search before giving up if Elrond Halfelven's hidden kingdom of Imladris proved to be nowhere to be found. How long could his father, his people, and his City spare him on this fool's errand? He forced himself to close his eyes and rest, to stop pondering fruitless questions. Though these dream "visions" were new and strange to him, he knew that Faramir had seen them for years, and that they were seldom meaningless. His last thought before succumbing to his exhaustion was that he would surely dream again of Galena in his arms, and of holding her close to him, instead of lying here without her, alone.


	10. Chapter 9: Helpless Sense of Foreboding

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Nine: A Helpless Sense of Foreboding_

Galena wished there was a way for her letters to reach Boromir, instead of having to wait until his return to give them all to him, when they were no longer most needed. She still hoped the letters would refresh him when he read them, would strengthen a brave but tired heart with feelings so deep she feared to utter them aloud in his presence. She had known for years, since the very night she met him, that she loved this brash, captivating, powerful Captain-General dedicated to fighting a losing battle. Though she had feared for a long time that he would move on to someone more suited to a man of his station and importance, or that she would lose him to the sword or arrow of one of Gondor's many foes, the idea that she almost knew he would eventually bring her pain could not temper or diminish her loving ardor.

She loved him despite his pride, despite his failings, despite the assurances and certainties he could not give her, just as she knew he loved her despite her reputation, her past, and her social standing which should not have even allowed her to speak to him directly – much less call him her own, her love, her heart's true match and mirror. She had not been blessed with foresight, and in truth had always imagined such a gift would be more curse than blessing. However, she wished now, waiting endlessly as days passed without her knowing where Boromir was, nor how he fared, that she could be granted a glimpse of the future. Borormir had told her more than once that Faramir, his brother, sometimes was granted such sight in his dreams, and she suddenly, desperately wished she were acquainted with Lord Faramir as well; that she could go to him and beg him tell her all of his vision, the Quest that should rightfully have been his to take, and if he knew aught of Boromir, whom they both loved.

But there was no way she could do such a thing. She knew that Boromir guarded what they had jealously – a precious secret, just one thing that was his alone. When with her, Boromir could be merely himself – not a soldier, or the Captain-General, or the Steward's favored son. He wanted no one else to have anything to do with their relationship, for fear it would be ruined or snatched away. Galena knew that perhaps she should be hurt or offended, thinking that he hid her from shame, but she understood. Instead, he treasured what they had so much that he wanted nothing to change it or threaten it. Until he was a man free from war and shadows, and could try to make a life with the one he loved, he wanted nothing to stand between the two of them.

So she struggled to carry out her daily tasks and routines; to smile for the men in the tavern at night, to cook, sew, wash, sweep, and mend whatever needed doing and tried only to think of her love's safe return to her side. Sometimes, she looked up from pouring an ale, thinking she would see him ducking to enter the establishment's door, laughing with a comrade-in-arms, a twinkle in his eye as he came toward her, his distinctive laugh ringing out as she'd blush when he pulled her close. But it never turned out to be him when she looked up and saw some other soldier laughing or trying fruitlessly to catch her eye. When this happened, she was swept again by the unsettling feeling of foreboding. She had no distinct vision, nor foreknowledge, but she felt he was struggling; lost or confused or simply needing his home and her arms. Countless times she wished she had just quitted the White City and gone with him, but she knew he would never have allowed it, not when he didn't even want Faramir to attempt the endeavor. It would have been worthless for her to even try arguing with him.

On the fifth day that Boromir had been gone, his younger brother Faramir came into her tavern and sat at one of her tables. Though Galena had never seen him closer than at a distance in ceremonies or parades, she recognized him immediately, mainly due to his resemblance to Boromir. Though he was of a slighter build than his brother, and quieter – not magnetically attracting the attention of all in his presence, but instead staying deep in conversation with the few he had entered with, all dressed as he was in the garb of the Ithilien Rangers. He had a noble brow, the same rare grey eyes – a trait of Numenorean descent – and a deep, studious, and wise bearing. Galena knew Boromir was smarter and learned as much as he needed to be , but he had no great love of books and lore. He had often spoken of how he and Faramir differed in that, and Galena found herself almost drawn across the crowded room toward the younger son of Denethor, wanting desperately to talk to him, to beg him to tell her if his learning, his visions, his familial connection, any of it, could tell her anything about how it fared with the man she loved.

But Faramir did not know her, would not realize who she was or why she needed to know. Nor would he approve of his brother's choice in companion, were she to even choose to go against Boromir's wishes and introduce herself. So, she kept her distance, teeth clamped down tight on her lips to hold in all her unasked questions and desire to be near someone close to Boromir, even if just by birth and association.

If only she could make her worry and sense of foreboding go away, or find out if someone else felt it too…


	11. Chapter 10: The Shards of Narsil

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Ten: The Shards of Narsil_

Riding lost and without hint or sign of Lord Elrond's kingdom for so long, very nearly caused Boromir to pass by the Ford of Bruinen unawares, thinking he must be seeing a mirage and not believing his own eyes. As it were, when his horse took her first few steps into the cold, swiftly-flowing water, Boromir felt both refreshed by the moisture that splashed up to cool him, and amazed by the powerful, quivering change that had suddenly been wrought in the air around him; as if even the water and the breeze were alive and aware of his coming.

Crossing the Ford, he guided his horse up the rocky bank on the other side carefully, lest she choose loose ground or stones and send them both tumbling. When raising his eyes again to what was before him, Boromir found himself stopped still in disbelief. Rising gloriously in warm browns and greens and golds in the arms of the hills surrounding it and the trees shrouding it from sight until nearly upon its threshold, was Imladris. Boromir realized that no sight other than cresting the hill and seeing his own White City before him in bright sunlight had ever struck him quite so powerfully. He was still mistrustful of the elves and their secretive kingdoms and councils, thinking this city not nearly so magnificent as the White Tower of Echthelion gleaming white on a clear morning, but he had to grudgingly admit there was a clear, clean, charming natural beauty to Rivendell as well, now that he saw it. At the very least, he was glad to have finally stumbled upon his destination and to be at a pause in his long journey.

As he allowed his mount a gentle canter, Boromir rode through the gates, looking for some direction or person to whom he could announce his presence. The way up to Elrond's front gate, so to speak, seemed strangely quiet and unguarded, but Boromir was a seasoned captain and knew better than to let appearances deceive him. The elves were well-known for their ability to blend into their natural surroundings and become nearly invisible at will. He also knew they were fiercely protective of Elrond's supposedly magical hidden realm, one of their last bastions of peace and beauty left unsullied by the evil stirring in the East. He was not fooled into thinking they were unaware of his arrival, nor that they were not watching and following his every move, even at this very moment.

Boromir kept his palfrey at a canter as they entered into the heart of the realm under a large, grey stone archway, his sable cloak flowing behind him, shield bouncing as a heavy, comforting weight against his shoulder. He then reined in hard, glancing around him while seeking how to proceed. He knew other Men had been told of the Council, but he did not know if they would attend or if they were yet present. Beautiful as the dwellings were, now that he was finally seeing the Last Homely House of Lord Elrond rising from the forest and the morning mists, Boromir could not help but be somewhat chafed by the lack of welcome and more than a little discomfited by the idyllic, but eerily complete, quiet.

He brushed a gentle hand through his mount's sweaty, tangled mane and crooned low to her in a surprisingly tender voice. His affection for his horse was genuine, and he realized that she had been on just as long and hard a journey as he. "Mayhap we should get you bedded down for the night first, rubbed down and fed and watered, then perchance I may find someone to direct me to where I belong as well," he murmured to the horse, nearly as though whispering his words in the animal's velvet ear.

The palfrey bobbed her head as if to nod in answer, and Boromir chuckled as he scratched her favorite spot behind the ears, his easy good nature returning to him as he decided on a course of action.

It was hours later when Boromir found himself exploring the lodgings he had finally been told were his. After seeing many open, sunlit hallways filled with relics more ancient than his family's whole lineage and many porches where groups of elves sang unnaturally fair songs or told old stories, he finally wandered far enough to find something of true intrigue.

Stepping into the room, its melancholy air immediately engulfed him. He hardly dared to draw too harsh a breath in the surrounding hush. The room was filled with dark shadows and bathed in indigo light, as if made of moonglow. Stopping short at a breathtaking mural that took up an entire wall and depicted Isildur cutting the Ring of Power from Sauron's finger with his fallen father's sword, Boromir found himself frozen, staring at this moment that captured both the triumph and fall of Man at once.

It was then, as he finally turned away from the painting, that he saw the velvet-covered table holding the shining pieces of the sword itself. He moved toward the cherished relic hesitantly, reverently, nearly afraid to believe his own eyes. Having such a heroic weapon before him, even if it was broken, was both daunting and incredible. He could not help but want to see it closer – even to touch it. This sword had starred in all his favorite legends of adventure heard as a child.

Reaching the table, Boromir hefted the base and pommel in his sword hand, feeling the weight of it, imagining what it would have been like to weld Narsil whole in battle. "The Shards of Narsil," he spoke to himself in an awestruck whisper.

Then he felt studying eyes upon him. Looking up sharply, his gaze narrowed when it found that of the Ranger from the North – "Strider" he had heard the man was called. Why did this vagabond watch him so? He was no thief meaning to run off with treasures. He was hurting nothing that was not already broken. In that moment, feeling caught in unwarranted embarrassment, his hand slipped and the broken sword cut his finger enough to draw blood. "Still sharp," his words slipped out, his mind still marveling at the extraordinary blade in his hand.

Looking at the man across from him again however, bitterness and resentment flooded Boromir unchecked, in a way he did not fully understand. Slanting his eyes in an angry scowl at the one he saw as an interloping spy, Boromir spat out, "But nothing more than a broken heirloom," as he tossed the weapon back down to its table.

He hesitated for just a moment, as he turned to stalk away, pausing when he heard the sword hilt clatter off and fall to the floor. He had not meant those last words, and every fiber of his Gondorian soldier's being wanted to turn and reverently pick up the fallen blade. But his pride would not let him bend, and without giving the Ranger another look, he strode determinedly away.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Things That Were

_(Hey everyone! I hope I still have some Lord of the Rings/Boromir fans out there interested in the long-delayed ending of this story. I'm certainly very fond of it, even though it's gotten put off by other stories and real life more than it should have. Please let me know what you think of it. I actually think it is beginning to wind its way toward the end.)_

_What Went Unspoken_

_By: TutorGirlml_

_Chapter Eleven: Things That Were _

Days and weeks crawled by, piling on each other with excruciating slowness, as if each minute were weighed down with Galena's own worries and fears. It had been late Spring when Boromir rode out – the trees and flowers budding and reaching out with the hope of a new year – and now the seasons had changed again, from Spring, then Summer, into Fall. As Galena stood in the small courtyard behind the inn most evenings, leaning on the low rock wall and gazing out over the neighboring peaks across the Pelennor Fields wondering where her love could be, dead, brown leaves crunched beneath her slippered feet. The oranges and reds of the yard's surrounding tress swirled down around her as she drew fresh water from the well. She could only guess at what might have kept Boromir away for so long without any word, and pray that he had not come to the harms roiling wildly in her mind's eye.

It was unseemly she knew, to feel as if she had some claim on him in any case. Boromir was the oldest son of Gondor's Steward – the White City's Captain and Heir. He was the closest thing to a Prince that the kingdom had known since the days of memory and legend. Were he here safe, he would still never be hers – not in a way that could last be openly declared. Despite that knowledge, he had claimed her in ways that she could not forget, and she would always be his in any way and in any small moments he had to give. Deep within herself, Galena felt, and truly did believe, that she held a part of him as well. He might never be free to speak of it beyond her tiny quarters above the tavern common room, but fancy words and public displays meant little to her. All she wished for was his safe return and the sincerity of his emotion shining in eyes that stood safe before her again.

Her eyes fluttered closed as another unguarded moment that passed between them before his departure reappeared within her memory. It had been some months after their first meeting, as their relationship was beginning to solidify. He had come in from the battlefield, fresh from a hard-won campaign, before even going before his father. Sweat and grime and black, dried blood covered his clothing and himself from head to foot, and what looked to be a deep gash ran across his cheekbone, still leaking his very lifeforce. He gave her a smile, but looked ready to fall on his face with exhaustion.

"Boromir!" she had gasped, shock on her face at his haggard appearance. She had rushed to him, fluttering in worry, trying to blot the blood from the cut, get him to sit down, bring him food and drink, and remedy all ills at once, until he had eventually held her at arm's length, place a kiss to her forehead, and told her all he required was a warm bath and her gentle hands to wash him clean.

They had soon found themselves, after giggles, splashing, clothes and water flying, both in the huge tub together. She had run the sponge over tired, tight shoulders, easing aching muscles as she sluiced warm water over his skin. Sat behind him, legs around his waist, she felt herself wishing that they could always be so close. She ran her hands lightly over his brow, and his head fell back to rest upon her slender shoulder. Galena felt her heart soar, realizing that very probably no one else had ever seen the City's Captain-General so relaxed and vulnerable. He had not only allowed her to, but clearly reveled in it. She had known then, from that moment on, he was all there would ever be for her…

As this remembrance released Galena from its hold, she had to shake her head free of the turmoil, confusion, and wistfulness it left behind. Why had that moment come to revisit her again just now? Was her lord hurt and vulnerable again somewhere? Needing her? Was it merely that she missed Boromir so, or was she being prompted to use whatever means necessary to find and go to him?

It seemed that she would have no peace until the resolved to speak to his beloved brother, Faramir, whatever the consequence might be for her being so bold. Boromir had always spoken of his younger brother as a discerning, kind-hearted soul, and so she prayed that he would take her concern for what it was and not denounce her for approaching him. Mayhap he could tell her anything he knew of Boromir, that she might not have heard. If she were then led to seek a horse and attempt riding out to find him, so be it. She would do so in a heartbeat. Anything was better than this waiting and wondering. She vowed that if the Lord Faramir came into her establishment again that night, she would seek him out. She would hear any news of Boromir – for both of their sakes.


	13. Chapter Twelve: Things That Are

_(I know it's been an interminably long wait for updates on this story yet again. I hope you will forgive me and keep reading however, as we are nearing the conclusion. After this, there is one more chapter (already written!) and then just an epilogue to go…)_

_I still don't own them, though I would definitely love to have Boromir if I could. __ I'm just filling in the blanks and unknowns for my own entertainment!_

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Twelve: Things That Are_

Head in hands, the great man of Gondor felt crushed by shame and guilt so strong it nearly broke him. He had not shed real tears since his mother's death – when he was yet a small boy. That night, he had awoken to find Faramir sobbing silently in the bed beside his. They had cried together and tried to be comforted in one another's shared grief until the dawn, and when that bleak day and night had ended, it was as though all of Boromir's tears had run dry. No more had come to him since, until now, when it seemed what he had done would yet unman him.

Crouched alone on the forest floor, glancing anxiously from side to side as if the hobbit who had just disappeared before his eyes would suddenly come back to hear him beg forgiveness, his mind ranted at him relentlessly. _'How could I have tried to take the Ring from Frodo?' _he chastised himself. _'I swore an oath to protect him and then attacked him myself. I am craven. I have betrayed them all.'_

Barely able to lift his eyes from the barren, leaf-strewn forest floor, he could not bring himself to begin the walk back to the Fellowship's campsite to face the rest of the Company's hateful stares. To tell them that Frodo had vanished before his very eyes after he laid hands on him to steal the Ring, weighed so heavily on his heart that he was praying for the strength to even speak the words needed to alert them of the folly now upon them all due to his failure. As he was finally gathering himself to move back towards their campsite at Anduin's edge, he heard what sounded like children's cries of distress.

It worked as a call to arms for Boromir – someone alone and in need of rescue. Running into danger, to aid ones in fear, was in his soldier's nature, and he plunged forward with his purpose renewed. As he came closer to the sounds, he also heard brutish grunts and growls, and a low, vibrating hum, like a hive of angry bees upset and swarming. In a life that had become all about fighting the Shadow, the sound was horrifically familiar. Even before he crested the hill in front of him and saw black Uruk-hai bodies surrounding the hobbits Merry and Pippin who had stolen his heart, he knew the marauding band which had been following them for days had found their small party at last.

He could feel his legs pumping like pistons as he topped the rise, straining to run just enough faster to get between the two young hobbits and those hulking, attacking beasts. It was almost an afterthought when he finally recalled the Horn of Gondor at his side, and while still running, put it to his lips to sound the alarm. Blaring three short blasts before charging on, he could only pray for a moment that Aragorn and the others would hear and come. It was not because he deserved a rescue, but because he feared his sword would not be enough to stem the tide of enemies, and he could not bear to think of Merry and Pippin's suffering if they were taken by these monsters.

The lights which came into Merry and Pippin's eyes when they looked up to see him flying into the fray on their side nearly brought the moisture to his eyes anew. He deserved no such adoration; he had tarnished his own name and any act of bravery he might attempt for atonement. Instead of speaking to either one, he struck out at the nearest Uruk and began to hold them back and let the hobbits move to higher ground.

"Behind me, Merry!" he ordered gruffly, "Pippin, get back!" He grabbed the young Took by his forearm and pulled Pip out of the way and behind him, just as an ugly, jagged scimitar sliced through the air where Pippin had stood. His shield rose to block another blow at the last second. "Get out of here, both of you!" he ordered breathlessly. "Make for Aragorn and the others, back to the river!"

He feared that they would not listen, would try to stay and help him, despite their small stature and inexperience. They were no match for this evil horde; the blows he was parrying were already wearing him down and would have long since felled a weaker man. Still, none of the others had yet appeared, thought he had sounded the Horn to call for their aid. He could not give up until someone else joined them or the little ones were safe. Perhaps Frodo had reached camp and already warned them of his treachery? Aragorn would not need much excuse for his suspicions to change into full distrust. Rightfully, Boromir realized, the Ranger had always feared that their human weakness would blind them with desire for the Ring. Mayhap this was the punishment he deserved in their eyes. Since he had turned foe toward the one they had sworn to protect, the others might truly intend to leave him to whatever fate had befallen.

Boromir plunged his sword into the gut of another beastly Uruk-hai. The creature tumbled clumsily in death at his feet, and Boromir slashed desperately at the next creature in line, knowing the foul parade of them was nowhere near its end. He hazarded another quick glance over his shoulder to check on Merry and Pippin, and realized too late that the moment's inattention was his undoing.

He felt the ugly barbed arrow's point in his flesh before he even saw it. The Captain of Gondor's doomed eyes, seeing his end at hand, flew to the crest of the hill where before them stood the tallest, ugliest brute of all while his fellow soldiers spilled down the rise all around. A cruel smile could be seen curving the twisted mockery of his mouth even from a distance. The soldier raised his sword arm to strike again and felled another oncoming fiend, but he felt the pain at the action lance all through his arm and torso; blood would have already begun flowing from the wound, seeping him inexorably of his strength. He yelled for the little ones to run, not daring to risk another look at them to see if they obeyed. He could not hold back this onslaught forever, but if he could slow them long enough for the hobbits' escape, perhaps he would gain some tiny portion of redemption. He raised his sword arm higher, diving back into the fray, uttering a battlecry that was blood-curdling and fierce, even as inside he despaired of remaining standing at battle's end. If only he could stand long enough not to fail Merry and Pippin as he had Frodo.

He knew then with utter sadness that he would not be able to keep his word to return to Galena, and it twisted with the sting of his betrayal to an agony almost beyond bearing. If only his thoughts could be sent to her, so she could know that his last wishes and desires were for her – the woman who had awakened a whole other aspect within him, whom he would have happily settled down with forever if he could have survived the Shadow. For a second, he felt sure he heard the fighting yell of another man – the Ranger Aragorn whom he had scorned such a short time before – and he was grateful that one stronger than he had come in time. It was then that Boromir felt the killing arrow pierce the flesh of his stomach and send him to his knees…


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Things Yet to Come

_(Here's the final chapter before the epilogue! Those of you who have been following this story won't know what to make of such a prompt update! Hopefully, I can keep this more regular pace. __)_

_I still don't own them – just borrowing out of sheer love!_

_What Went Unspoken_

_Chapter Thirteen: Things Yet to Come_

Another night brought another raucous and rollicking crowd to the tavern where Galena waited anxiously. Soldiers returned from far afield glad and joyous to be alive, somber city dwellers, grey-faced from the shadow they had been forced to watch growing overhead for so long, and advisors, courtesans, and other members of the Steward's court, all made up the burgeoning crowd that bustled around her. Galena strained her eyes as she scrambled back and forth from tables to the kitchen with food and beverage. Amidst all the people gathered there tonight, she did not see the one she was searching for: amber kissed brown hair and mesmerizing grey eyes like his older brother's and the green hood of an Ithilien Ranger.

More than enough banter, conversation and work kept Galena's hands occupied, but her mind could not be distracted. Though various patrons requested her presence to sit with them as they drank, or to accompany them to the rooms they had rented for the evening, she managed to politely dissuade them all. Never had this been the life she had wanted, always she had been doing as anyone else, scrabbling with what she had to in order to survive. When Boromir had come along, her situation had quickly changed for the better. He saw that the innkeeper was paid handsomely enough to allow Galena to refuse all other offers – which she had gladly done from that point onward. At first she had not known if the gesture was more out of care and concern for her, or jealousy and possessiveness on Boromir's part. In truth, she had hardly cared. As she had gotten to know him, she saw that it was some blend of both that honestly made her feel desired and protected in a way she never had before in all of her adult life. Boromir treated her as an equal, not a possession, thought to the innkeeper's and most outsiders' way of thinking that might have been precisely what his actions had claimed her as. In reality, he had granted her more freedom than she had experienced or expected in her profession. She came and went of her own accord; she had the chance to be her own woman, to merely serve the patrons their food and ale and leave the rest behind. Her only other duty was to be there at Boromir's call whenever he arrived. This would have been a duty to her heart, regardless of the arrangements made, and she was determined never to fail him.

Galena knew he had been taught to be strong – even hardened – all of his life. The wall around his emotions was so solid and sure that he had only recently begun to let her peek through his tough exterior, after all of their time together. As dawn was barely streaking across the sky on the morning he had left her for his deplorable quest, she had traced loving paths over the scars and muscles of his bare chest with her finger. He had lifted her hand in his to his lips, lingeringly, lovingly kissing each finger, and told her in a choked, strained voice, barely reining in the emotion, that he had not felt so loved, so accepted for himself, and so cared for since the death of his mother, Fiduilas.

The admission had brought tears to her eyes, though he had shed none. She had bit back so many questions about his mother, about his relationship with his father, and what he and his brother had felt and shouldered all of these long years, but she knew without attempting to push that he would not – could not – discuss it further. Boromir had looked long into her eyes, kissed her forehead, then held her close another moment before he rose and began to dress.

If she had known the feelings that would be swirling through her now, seemingly alone in a crowd of people, would she have said anything more? Would she have said something different? Should she have begged him once more not to set out on this errand? Pressed him to ignore his father's wishes, his concern for his brother, his own duties and honor? It would not have altered his course, but would she have any more peace if she had made yet one further attempt?

Something was not right. The sense that something was happening out there, beyond the walls of the White City, where Boromir was, would not go away. She could feel it as an ache in her bones, a churning in her stomach, as well as a fear in her heart and a whisper in her mind… Why did the Steward's younger son not show himself tonight? She _had _to speak with him immediately – had to find out if he knew aught which could explain her unease, even if the answer pained her.

Just as Galena had decided that Faramir would not come to the tavern this night, and had turned to climb the stairs to her quarters, bone-weary and disheartened, a company of Rangers trudged through the door, led by Denethor's second son. His careworn face and haunted eyes appeared as exhausted and troubled as Galena herself felt, as she watched him remove his hood and look over the room for a seat for himself and his men. Grabbing a tray, Galena hurried forward, knowing that there was a quiet, unoccupied table in the side room, and seeing her chance to speak with her beloved's younger brother. _'Boromir, forgive me,'_ she whispered to herself as she pushed through the throng to stand before Faramir. _ 'I have to know aught I can of you…"_

She looked up into the Ranger's face, and immediately a feeling of calm washed over her. In better times, it would have been a face of peace and tranquil wisdom; his kindness and discernment were evident at only a glance, just as Boromir had described. In fact, his aspect was both so like Boromir's, and yet so different at the same time, that it stymied Galena for a moment, and she stood there frozen like one of the statues in Rath Dinen.

After a long moment, she recovered herself and spoke to him with assurance, "This way, my Lord," giving a slight dip of a bow. "I know where there is an empty table awaiting you and company so you can eat and catch your breath in peace."

Faramir nodded to her, his eyes warm and generously accepting, and he made to follow her. "Lead on, my Lady," he replied. He said no more, but followed willingly, looking behind to signal his men and make sure that they followed. The whole group looked dirty, cold, and miserable from being encamped in the Wild and vulnerable to the elements for so long. Galena knew from Boromir that what Faramir did to guard the area nearest the edges of the Dark Lord's domain was no easily task. She also knew that their father the Steward did not value his younger son's efforts, no matter what victory or success Faramir might have. As she tried to study him casually without his notice, it almost seemed she could see the weight on his shoulders, and she felt for him with true empathy. In another time, in another place, maybe someday, if Boromir could be there to introduce them properly, she wished she could get to know this man. Faramir's character shown in his very mien and bearing.

Showing them their seats and taking orders, Galena bided her time carefully, watching for the correct moment. Once his men had begun speaking to each other and settling in, losing interest in a simple serving girl, she seized her moment. "My Lord, if I might speak with you for a moment…"


	15. Epilogue: Echoes of What Might Have Been

_(Well folks, here it is, at long last! I'm so sorry that this fan fiction has been broken up and literally stretched over years, but here is the final installment. I hope some of you still read it and let me know what you think. As always, I would never claim to own anything of J.R.R. Tolkien's; I am only daydreaming a bit to fill in certain unknown gaps in character lives. Enjoy!)_

_**What Went Unspoken**_

_**Epilogue: Echoes of What Might Have Been**_

Five Years Later…

What Faramir had told Galena that evening had brought to life the worst nightmare she could have imagined, that she had not even dared to give voice or thought to. He had come to the inn that night worried and hoping to forget what he had found mere hours before, hoping that what he knew it meant might be untrue. When she had spoken to him however, he realized what he had seen couldn't not be undone or ignored – no matter how much he wished it so.

The Horn of Gondor cleaved in two and no longer carried on his brother's person, as it had been for as far back as Faramir could remember, could only mean that Boromir was dead or injured so badly that the Horn could be taken from him and ruined. Faramir knew with sinking heart, that he could not keep the information from her; it was unfair to give false hope in times like those had been. Still, when first those words had crossed his lips, he could see the devastation struck into this poor barmaid's soul. It was writ upon her face. Faramir had known in seconds all that she had not said about her connection to his lost brother. It was clear that she had loved Boromir very much, and he was immediately sorry for her in this moment of assumed tragedy. He was also pierced to the heart that his brother had obviously had something of such moment in his life that he felt he could not share.

Faramir had risen abruptly to steady the young lady as her knees appeared to wobble, her face blanched, and she appeared faint. He guided her to a seat around the table with a hand at her elbow. She began weakly apologizing for such poor service and trying to rise, but Faramir's hand on her shoulder bid her stay, for he remembered, even now, years later, the way her body had trembled as one last leaf on a branch in an autumn gale. There had been no way she should be carrying trays and tankards and waiting on rowdy crowds until she caught her breath and collected her wits.

"Take a moment, my lady," he had urged quietly, true warmth and concern in his voice that so echoed Boromir's it had actually shot sudden, stabbing pain into her chest…

Even now, after so much time had passed, Faramir knew that he would never forget the utter devastation he had felt that night, nearly sure of his older brother's loss, and the way it had been reflected like a mirror in Galena's reaction and bearing. True, after all this time, the Shadow that had threatened them all was gone, and Aragorn now sat on the throne of a healthy, thriving Gondor, but his beloved champion sibling – the White City's Captain – had not returned, and could never see the peace that he had fought, bled, and died for.

This particular gloomy and overcast day where the chill of moisture in the air settled into the marrow, he thought of all that had transpired that night and the days and weeks before and after it more than ever. As he headed down to a lower circle of the city after his meetings and committees with the King and his councilmen and advisors, Faramir felt the fog of memories shadowing his steps. The Steward of Gondor he might be in Boromir's place, but he had never truly grown to believe it was a mantle of his to bear. Where he went today before he returned to Ithilien brought all those conflicting feelings back to the fore, yet it was a path he needed to take. He had not seen the maiden from that night since Boromir's last rites and will were alloted, but it seemed his duty to make sure she was not abandoned in the cold.

As he at last reached the rough-hewn wooden door of Galena's residence, he drew in one long, calming breath before knocking lightly to announce his arrival. Several moments passed as he waited on the humble doorstep patiently. He hoped that the Mistress Galena would be at home, and that she would not be further pained at seeing him again. He knew that though he and Boromir had been very different men, there was a familial resemblance that could not be denied. Would it be too much of a shock, seeing eyes so like her lost Captain's, or would it be a pleasant reminder of what had once been, and comforting to know that someone else still shared in her grief?

He was pleased to see that she no longer lived about the tavern, but on a clean, quiet street, where birds twittered overhead and one could see all the way up to the citadel surrounded by blue sky, if he tilted back his head to look. That was what he had hoped for her in earnest when he had passed along the secret share of Boromir's inheritance which his brother had trusted to his care for her. Often, he had wished to visit this woman in the years since the War of the Ring had ended and Boromir had been taken from them. He fervently ached to ask her so many things he had never questioned his brother on. Had Boromir found some true happiness in life, despite the darkness and danger they had all suffered under then? Did he know just how much he had been loved and needed? What had been his goal and dream in life, beyond saving his beloved Gondor? And yet, he had held back, fearing he would only bring this lovely near-stranger heartache.

At last, he heard the soft brush of light footsteps on stone coming from the other side of the door. He took a small step back, awaiting admittance patiently, but with an anxiously held breath. When the wooden barrier between swung inward, he was startled by the warmth in those deep, tawny orbs. Though there was sadness and wisdom beyond her age within that gaze, he found himself wishing Boromir could see how well his lady appeared, all things considered.

"My Lord Steward," she greeted, looking surprised and slightly embarrassed. "I was not prepared for such noble company. Come in, please, but excuse anything that may not be as tidy as it should."

"Nay, Mistress Galena," he replied, bowing politely as he stepped inside and allowed her to close the door behind him. "Do not worry over appearances; you were not forewarned, and such details do not concern me."

"What may I do for you then, My Lord?"

He allowed a small smile to cross his noble brow as he responded, "To begin with, please, call me Faramir. The formal title is not necessary here and makes me feel ridiculous." He swallowed hard, but forced out his next statement; if anyone deserved its honesty, it was this woman. "Stewardship was an honor never meant to be mine, if the truth be told."

Galena had been smiling at the way Faramir's dislike of his formal title reminded her of his brother, when his second admission quickly sobered her again. She watched as those kind, grey eyes clouded and grew stormily haunted; exactly the way another pair of eyes had done so long ago. She shook her head in disagreement and reached a small, light hand out to clasp his comfortingly. "Nay, I do not believe that. He would be so pleased to see you well and strong, helping to lead our people in peace and prosperity. He was so proud of you, Faramir. You wear the mantle well." She bit her lip then, hoping she had not offered more than it was her place to give and ill at ease when he did not at first respond.

"You do me great honor," Faramir finally whispered hoarsely, his voice gruff with unvoiced emotion. "It seems our fair city is thriving once again. Still, I wish my brother were rightfully at King Elessar's side, as he always should have been."

Galena nodded her understanding, meeting his gaze as melancholic longing flowed between them, but she did not trust herself to speak anything more. The tears were pooling just behind her eyes and would surely pour in an unceasing torrent if she once allowed them to start.

After several charged, silent moments, she finally deemed her voice strong enough to speak again. "Pardon my poor hospitality, and do come and sit. You must have had a reason for your visit to my humble home, and I have barely given you fitting welcome."

Faramir bowed his head slightly in acceptance as he passed under the stone arch of her entry hall's ceiling. She ushered him further into the center of the small, plain home which revealed a couple of chairs, a table, wash basin in one corner, and stairs leading up to what he assumed were her sleeping quarters. He saw no cloak nor boots, no hat nor sword, no sign that any masculine presence had stepped in to fill Boromir's void in her life in the intervening years. Though it was truly none of his concern, he found that this assumption both relieved and further saddened him in equal measure.

She gestured for him to be seated, asking whether he wished for anything to eat or drink with her next breath, but Faramir shook his head and merely stood uneasily wondering how to express what he had come to say. Galena did not appear impatient, nor did she try to hurry him, and Faramir could not help feeling that this genuine concern and patience had to have been part of what his brother had been drawn to and found so comforting.

"I do not have any official business as excuse for my intrusion on your privacy," he began slowly, trying to correctly measure his words. "I only come to you to thank you, and to see that you are faring well. It is all I have left to do for a most beloved brother."

She blinked then as she continued to meet his eyes, failing at last to keep a few errant tears contained. "Things are well, thanks to what Boromir generously left for me, and to your honorable decision to award it as he desired. But why do you thank me?"

"For loving him as he was, as a man beyond his title and the name he made for himself. Though I did not have the chance to meet you under happy circumstances, I saw that someone's support and care were buoying his spirits in those last months. You could have given him no greater gift than the peace I saw you bestow."

Galena's tears flowed steadily then, though she managed not to sob. After all these years, it seemed the pain could subside for days, even weeks, at a time, but then, Boromir was brought to her thoughts once more, and she felt torn asunder and as painfully raw as if she had lost him anew. Faramir's words touched her deeply, but she was at a loss to express how much, until the trill of childish laughter carried in from the small courtyard behind the house on the morning breeze, startling them both from the silence that had settled between them.

Faramir's look was now the one bearing a question as he turned toward the sound then looked back to her. Galena knew she did not have the words just then to attempt explaining her greatest treasure; motioning him to follow her and not to speak, she determined to show the Lord Faramir instead. Once he saw, she knew the answer would be clear to him.

As they reached the open doorway looking out upon the cement circle shaded by one ancient tree, Galena whispered huskily, praying that Boromir's brother would understand, "My Lord, meet your nephew, Bronwyn." She gestured out across the small space to where a small boy laughingly ran after a butterfly, sun glinting off the honeyed streaks in his russet-colored hair. When he turned to find his mother and a soldier he did not know watching his play, he grinned at them, waving to Galena, and Faramir saw a twinkle of mischief and daring glint in the child's eyes, just as they had been present in his brother's playful childish face. There was no doubt, even at first glance, that this handsome, sturdy lad was his brother's son.

"Forgive me for not seeking you out and informing you sooner," she begged quietly, "but I did not want it to seem I hoped to take any sort of money or favor more than you had already given. Besides, I could not bear it if who he is, the blood that runs in his veins, were to take him from me – even to place him in the castle itself. I always believed that Boromir had some great destiny before him – for good, not for ill – and Bronwyn is the last tiny glimmer of that left to me."

Faramir swallowed a heavy lump in his throat, finally tearing his eyes from the child he already accepted as his nephew. He looked at her anew, so many questions he wished to ask, so much he wished to know. "Be at peace, Galena," he managed firmly, knowing she needed this reassurance more than anything else. "No one will take him from you; I swear it upon my own honor. However, I do hope you will allow me to know him in time, when he is old enough to understand. What you said of Boromir's destiny makes me realize that you have never heard what our King Elessar himself says of Boromir. He speaks of Boromir with love and fealty, and says that Boromir caused him to realized he must come to Gondor and lead his people, that it was Boromir who made him remember the strength and honor in Men – despite their weaknesses. To me, that sounds as if he did fulfill a great destiny."

Galena bowed her head, letting it all sink in. Whatever had happened to Boromir once he had ridden away from her that morning so long ago, he had achieved what he set out to do. He had protected his brother and helped to bring about the salvation of his people. She had no doubt now, even thought she had already felt it was so in her heart. Though it would never be enough to bring him back, Galena took the praise of Boromir for the small measure of comfort it did provide. "Thank you, Faramir," she whispered sincerely. "Bronwyn and I both thank you."

As she showed him to the door, Faramir said, "You are both most welcome. It does me good to see my brother's chosen family living as well as they can. I will come again – sooner this time, I think."

"You will always be welcome here," Galena affirmed.

When she was alone again, Galena walked back through her quiet house, finding the stillness now more peaceful instead of lonely. As she looked on from the doorway at her young son, now balancing as he walked on the top of the short, squat wall that surrounded the courtyard, she felt Boromir's presence as healing warmth spreading from the inside out. It seemed she finally knew he was looking down on them, well-pleased and assuring her that one day they would all be together, and he would hold her once again.


End file.
